Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) (17 page)

She set about exploring them, pulling on the bottom ones with all her might. There was give in a couple, but try as she might, she lacked the strength to free any of them. The higher boards were placed one on top of the other. Much too close to get her fingers in the gap between, or even to look between the boards at what might be next to her.

The wood was undoubtedly old. She studied one wall for a moment. The weakest area on each should be midway between the vertical posts bracing them from the other side. Sophie let the comforter drop to the mattress, drew back her leg and, using the ball of her heel, aimed a solid kick in the center of one of the slats.

Pain sang up her leg, but the board remained intact. Eyeing it balefully, she grabbed the comforter and used it to cushion her foot before trying again on another. Her foot was protected this time, but her efforts were met with a similar lack of success.

Ruthlessly tamping down the despair that threatened, she tried over and over, kicking repeatedly at every board she could reach. Although some shook under her attack, they all held firm.

Frustrated, she studied the cell with new eyes. Only then did she realize the occasional threads of light showing through cracks in the structure were getting dimmer.

It had been after midnight when she’d been abducted from her shower. It had been full dark when she’d come to last night. Or maybe it had been early this morning. How long since the UNSUB had left her?

An even more terrifying question was how much time did she have until he came back?

Her knees went to water then and she stumbled back to the mattress, sinking upon it in an ignominious heap. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that her kidnapper was the man responsible for the six sets of human remains dug up in the cemeteries. The same stranger responsible for the abduction of Courtney Van Wheton. But she’d called out to Courtney by name earlier. There had been no answer.

Sophia had spent over a decade analyzing crimes every bit as horrific as those this offender was responsible for. She’d worked nearly as long developing victim profiles for the unfortunates who had been targeted by men like him. In order to accomplish her job, an emotional distance was necessary.

But that distance was impossible now. She was immersed in the nightmare. Tiny tendrils of fear curled throughout her system. It was getting harder and harder to keep them at bay. Objectivity was difficult to summon when an inner clock ticked away the passing minutes and hours. But she realized she’d be capable of the clearest thinking before she was victimized herself.

The thought had Sophia surging from the mattress. She turned her attention to the woven wire effectively penning in the top of her cell. It couldn’t be reached by standing in place, or by stepping atop the mattress.

Striding to the gate again, she tried not to focus on the fading splinters of light. But a renewed sense of urgency fueled her actions. Grasping one bar in her hands, she climbed up as far as she was able. It moved a little on its hinges when she climbed it, each small shift of position separating it a fraction from the ceiling of wire above. The top rung of the metal gate met the wire when it was closed, and would have to swing outward in order to clear it.

She reached out to press against the wire fencing at the right front corner. It was secured tightly for as far as she could stretch. But the pressure she put on it bent the wire slightly. Tilting her head up, she considered it.

The openings between the wires were two inches by three, she estimated. The wires were crimped hard every two inches to hold them together. Not as thick as a chain link fence people would put around their yards. Not as flimsy and malleable as chicken wire. She’d never been allowed to have pets as a child, but a friend of hers had had two rabbits kept in a cage fashioned with similar wire, but slightly thicker.

Shifting position, she started at the opposite end. She reached out to pry at one of the coiled wires securing one section to the next. Quickly sliced her finger.

She popped it in her mouth, reconsidered. Next she reached up above the gate and pressed as hard as she could on the wire. It held firm. Climbing as high as she was able, she ducked her head and pushed on the wire with all her might. A small gap appeared between it and the top of the gate.

Hope slivered through her. It was only two inches or so, but Sophia was filled with new purpose. She just needed something to wedge up there, to separate the wire from the top of the gate enough for her to climb through the resulting space.

Quickly she descended to retrieve the comforter. Fabric wasn’t going to be the most effective material, but it was all she had available. She spread it out, then rolled it as tightly as possible.

The ecru and ribbon lace couldn’t have looked more out of place in her prison. Before she could slam that mental door shut, she had a mental image of Cam sprawled out atop it, his arms wrapping her tightly to his chest. The feminine backdrop couldn’t have contrasted more sharply with his tough masculinity.

Pain from the memory shimmied through her, and she quickly forced it aside before it could weaken her resolve. She couldn’t afford to be distracted or weakened thinking about the past. Couldn’t afford to rely on others…

…Cam…

…to rescue her.

Time was running out.

Filled with a renewed sense of urgency, she ran back to the gate and climbed two rungs, struggling to maintain her balance while she reached up to wedge the roll she’d made from the comforter into the space between the gate and the wire. Triumph spiked through her as the wire bent a fraction. Redoubling her efforts she twisted the roll of fabric, forcing it harder. The wire caught at all the little holes in the lace, slowing the progress, but patiently she freed each snagged area to push it through further. When she had the folded comforter wedged halfway, she tested the gap it created in the wire.

Her heart plummeted. The gap of two inches was actually narrowing before her eyes as the wire pressed down on the forgivable fabric. It had the bulk, but lacked the firmness necessary to act as the wedge she needed.

Tears of frustration welled. Sophia forced herself to think. Maybe she could use the fabric to protect her fingers as she tried to unwrap the wire where it was crimped together. But even as the idea occurred, she knew it was doomed to fail. She needed a tool of some sort, and nothing in her search had…

The thought fragmented when a noise split the cavernous confines of her prison. Ancient hinges creaked protestingly. Her system quite simply froze.

And then a voice pierced the darkness, shooting her spine with panic.

“I came back for you, Doctor Bitch. Just like I promised.”

“I might have something. Where’s that file folder of violent sexual felons released in the state recently?”

Both Jenna and Tommy straightened in the chairs. Franks picked up the folder in question and slid it across Cam’s desk. Without shifting his propped feet, Cam leaned forward to grab it. He flipped through until he found the name he was looking for. “Stacy Marchand.”

“Stacy? That name would get a guy some special attention in prison.” Jenna muffled her yawn as she spoke.

“Not a guy,” he said absently, still trying to find the page in question. “A sister of one of the cons…ah.” He pulled out the sheet he was looking for and held it up. “Sister to Gilbert Humphrey. He was released eighteen months ago after serving twelve years for attempted murder.” Cam had checked on the man himself when he’d gone over the list previously. He stopped to re-familiarize himself with the details. “Abducted a woman from her car in a department store parking lot at gunpoint. Drove her to a wooded area and raped her repeatedly. Later tried to cover up the crime by setting her on fire.”

“Twelve years?” Franks uttered the words like an oath.

“He agreed to serve as an FBI informant in another investigation and had his sentence reduced. When he got out, he lived with his sister for a time. Stacy Marchand.” Adrenaline was rapid firing along his nerve endings. “I came across her name a couple hours ago. She’s worked for Dr. Pane for the last eight years, according to their employee records. The Des Moines branch. And the DMV has her listed as owning a 2005 white cargo van. Bought it in 2010.”

Franks stared at him. “So he uses his sister’s van to abduct Van Wheton from Edina. If we’re talking the same guy, maybe he paints it before abducting Sophia. Problem is DMPD has already searched all the Dr. Pane properties with the owner’s permission. Found nothing.”

“But we didn’t search the Zip’s Auto and Salvage properties.” Cam passed the sheet he was looking at over to Tommy. “That’s Humphrey’s current employer, according to the information on his parole sheet.” He reduced one screen on his computer, opened another and searched for the company. Before he could finish his search, Jenna was speaking.

“They’ve got a scrap yard on East Elm. Proprietor is one Ernest Zipsy. I’ll run a property search under his name. See what else he owns.”

Cam turned his attention to running Zipsy for priors. Minutes later, Jenna announced, “Two other business properties are listed with Ernest Zipsy as the owner. One is on Raccoon. That street would be adjacent to Elm. Might be the headquarters for the scrap yard. The other is south of the Martin Luther King Parkway. From the assessed taxation rate, it’s not much of a building.”

“Meaning it’s not one of the structures currently targeted by the urban development going on in the area.” Cam knew many of the historic buildings in that neighborhood were being refurbished as trendy lofts and boutique office spaces. But other streets were still lined with abandoned buildings and warehouses.

He paused, did a quick scan of what his search had brought up on the man. “Twenty years ago Zipsy went away for running a chop shop. Five year stretch. Looks like he’s been clean ever since. Or at least he’s avoided getting caught.”

Mind made up, Cam looked at Franks. “Call Treelord.” Steve Treelord was the DMCD lieutenant heading up the city’s law enforcement assistance on Sophia’s abduction. “Have him get someone to sit on Humphrey’s apartment for the duration.” At least keeping the man under surveillance would ensure that he wasn’t free to terrorize a victim, if indeed he was the offender they were seeking. He switched his attention to Jenna. “Check whether Humphrey has a license. And whether he has any moving violations. Maybe we’ll catch a break and one was recorded by a red light camera in the vicinity we’re looking at.”

He picked up his own cell and dialed a familiar number. “I’m going to call Fenton.” He saw her expression and accurately interpreted it. Hounding Al Fenton, the lab manager at the DCI criminal laboratory was a waste of time and energy. It was doubtful much had been done yet with the evidence collected at Sophie’s.

But nagging never hurt.

Cam was about to leave the first in what he figured would be a long string of voices messages. But to his surprise, Fenton answered on the first ring.

“Actually I was just about to call you.” Cam could visualize the manager running his fingers through his thinning hair. The man was mid-fifties, with a perpetually harried expression. It came, Cam imagined, from constant calls like this one asking for updates.

“You have something from today’s scene already?” The remark was intended to provoke. Then they’d start the inevitable two-step about a timeline for results. He knew the lab was only open until five, and some of the tests took days to administer. It was all part of the dance.

“We’re running a DNA comparison test on the blood samples we found on Dr. Channing’s bathroom floor with samples taken from her toothbrush.” Cam must have made a sound of amazement because Jenna and Tommy glanced up at him. “If we rush it, we can have results ready sometime tomorrow. Latents will take longer. We’ve got elimination comparisons to do, and then you can submit the unknown prints to AFIS.”

It took a moment for Cam to find his voice. “That’s fast work, Al.”

“There’s more.” A note of satisfaction threaded through the man’s voice. “We’ve got a couple sole prints from the garage doorway into the condo, one in Dr. Channing’s bedroom and another in the kitchen. Sneakers, size eleven and a half. I’ve got an analyst running the tread pattern against known brands. Might get lucky there. And dirt was collected from where it was ground into the carpet in a couple places. Aubrey is doing an analysis right now.”

Hope bloomed. Cam remembered a criminalist tagging the spots. If the dirt had come from a shoe tread, it could give them a hint about where the offender had been. Possibly even point to an occupation.

Then shock hit him. “Aubrey?” He checked his watch. “What’s she still doing there?” He wasn’t terribly surprised that the lab manager was still there at this time. The man was a well-known workaholic. But the lab’s budget rarely ran to overtime.

Fenton’s tone went defensive. “I’m still here because I had paperwork to catch up on. And if a few of the analysts insist on staying to finish the tests they were running on their own time, I’m going to turn a blind eye. A lot of us have attended forensic conferences with Dr. Channing. She helped write a grant last year to secure a freestanding fuming chamber for the lab. People here. . .” He paused for a moment and when he continued, his voice sounded gruff. “Well, let’s just say a lot of us think highly of her.”

Cam was surprised, but he shouldn’t have been. Sophie had that way with people. An innate ability to connect. He could only be grateful that she generated the same depth of loyalty from the lab personnel as she did from the agents at DCI. “She’ll be touched, Al.”

“Yeah.” Fenton cleared his throat. “You just make sure she gets home to hear about our efforts as soon as possible, okay? Tyler Skarlis will be doing the toxicology analysis on the syringe found in her bathroom first thing in the morning. No telling how long that will take. Depends on whether the contents are substances commonly test for.”